Freedom
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik's childhood in the tomb was filled with legends of the Thief King. When Bakura shows up again after his loss in the memory world, Marik slowly pieces everything together. Short canon piece with (very) slight hints of thiefshipping.


**Here, have a piece of writing about Marik's childhood (with** ** _very_** **slight hints of thiefshipping).**

 _"Can I go play now?"_

 _"No, Marik, now focus. Sit still; stop wriggling around so much." The sound of paper shuffling died in the musty, thick air. "Translate these passages."_

 _A heavy sigh. "The … The Pharaoh and his attendants were…"_

 _"Not attendants. Look again."_

 _"Ugh. The Pharaoh and his … his … Council were gathered in the throne room observing the issues of the Land when they were accosted by the greatest enemy of the state."_

 _"Better. Take this illustration and point out the Nameless Pharaoh."_

 _"That one, the one sitting on the throne."_

 _"Correct. He is the one our family…"_

 _"Who's that man?"_

 _"…has been dutifully serving these many years. Our great task is…"_

 _"Father!"_

 _"…to await his return and then act as the guides to his great inheritance…"_

 _"Father, look! Who's that…"_

 _"_ Marik _. Will you stop?"_

 _"I just want to know who the man is!"_

 _A frustrated growl. "Which man?"_

 _"The one standing on the sarcophagus! With the red cloak!"_

 _"That's the Nameless Pharaoh's greatest enemy. We do not speak of him. Now…"_

 _"Why don't we speak of him?"_

 _"Because he is a wicked and sacrilegious tomb robber. The Nameless Pharaoh charged our family with…"_

 _"A tomb robber?! For real?! That's so cool!"_

 _"No, Marik, it isn't. The Nameless Pharaoh…"_

 _"Who is the tomb robber?"_

 _"Marik, stop talking about the tomb robber and focus on the Pharaoh!"_

 _"But the tomb robber is so much more interesting!"_

 _"_ Marik _!"_

 _"Please, Father? Please tell me about the tomb robber?"_

 _A pause, followed by a long-drawn-out sigh. "If I do, will you focus on your lesson?"_

 _"Promise! Promise promise promise!"_

 _"Alright. The tomb robber was the Nameless Pharaoh's greatest enemy. He robbed the tomb of the great Pharaoh Aknamkanon and sacrilegiously dragged his sarcophagus – may Osiris protect him – into the throne room before the Council."_

 _"That's so awesome!"_

 _"Marik…"_

 _"What was the tomb robber's name? How did he rob the tomb? Were there tombkeepers like us helping him?"_

 _"Marik! Don't say such blasphemous things!"_

 _"…Blasphemous? I didn't mean…"_

 _"Blasphemy! Tomb robbers are the worst sort of criminal!"_

 _"…Sorry, Father… I was just interested…"_

 _"Hmph. Yes, well, the tomb robber had many sins to his name. He was the Thief King who tore our great country apart and spread death and destruction throughout the land."_

 _"…Oh. But he looks so exciting…"_

 _"Well, he was brazen, yes, to stand up to the Nameless Pharaoh. He took on the entire Council and their Items that night."_

 _"Items? Like the Rod and Necklace?"_

 _"Yes, just like those. It is said that the Thief King was even in possession of the Ring at a time."_

 _"He was?!"_

 _"Yes, much to our chagrin and great loss. We must always guard against him and his like, Marik; they are our destruction."_

 _"…Ok…"_

 _"Now, back to your lesson. The Nameless Pharaoh has charged our family with his great secret…"_

 _…_

That night, all that Marik could think about was the great Thief King, galloping into the Throne Room on his great black stallion and dragging the sarcophagus of the old Pharaoh behind him. How electric it must have been inside that room! He lay on his back on his small, simple cot, staring up at the dusty ceiling of his underground room. He imagined the great expanse of the sky that lay beyond it, with stars that twinkled and the sun shining with Ra's joy, just as he had read about in the scriptures. What did a breeze feel like? How did it feel to ride the Thief King's great black stallion across the desert? _He must have been so free_ , Marik thought bitterly, _So free to do anything he liked…_

His dreams were full of dark, evil chuckles and shadows that robbed in the night. A red cloak fluttered, grey-white hair glowing in the darkness, a low, dangerous whisper from a scarred face that threatened to steal him away in his sleep. _Ah, little tombkeeper, wouldn't you rather live a life like mine? Free to run through the desert, free to do as you please … I am not tied to any Nameless Pharaoh…_

Marik woke with his head full of dreams. As soon as he was up, he scurried straight through to his brother's room, shouting in a loud voice, "Odion, play a game with me! I want to play make-believe and pretend to be the Thief King!"

His brother, true to form, did not question his master. Instead, he went to fetch a long red altar-cloth that they tied about Marik's small form, arming him with a candlestick for a sword and a chair for a stallion. They decorated his right cheek with black kohl, marking out a jagged scar the same as was described in the scriptures of the Thief King. Marik paraded around the tomb with loud, whooping shouts. "I am the Thief King! Tremble before my might!" He vanquished the various priests throughout the Palace, then the Council members with their Items, and then the Nameless Pharaoh himself, all played dutifully by a grinning Odion. Marik leapt on his brother with a cheer. "Yes, I, the great and powerful Thief King, have vanquished you!"

"I submit," Odion responded in his deep, soft voice, "…But not without a fight!" He grabbed for Marik, swooping the small boy up into the air.

"H-hey!" Marik screeched with laughter, waving his candlestick in the air. "You shall not defeat the great and powerful Thief King! I am too great and powerful!"

Odion simply pulled him closer and began to mercilessly tickle him.

"N-no!" Marik panted and laughed, kicking his legs and wriggling his small body. "I w-will not b-be defeated!" He brandished the candlestick at Odion, who ducked whilst never letting his younger brother go. Marik laughed loud and waved the candlestick again, gold glinting in the lamplight, until Odion overbalanced and fell laughing to the floor with a loud _crash_. Marik landed safely on top of him, cackling. "Yes! I have vanquished you! Yield before the great Thief King!"

But Odion did not yield. He didn't say anything. Instead, his eyes were wide and staring at something over Marik's shoulder.

Marik turned with trepidation sinking like a stone in his stomach.

Father stood in the doorway, his eyes flashing and his bearded face set into a furious glare. His hands were clenched into fists by his sides, and with a shiver of dread, Marik noticed the whip hanging from his fingers.

Silence weighed heavily in the musty air of the tomb.

"Marik," Father's voice dropped quietly between them, "What are you doing?"

Marik swallowed. "W-we were just playing…"

"Playing?" Father closed the distance between them in two quick steps. " _Playing_?" His fingers gripped the red cloth around Marik's shoulders, tearing it off him with a quick jerk. The rip of the cloth sounded loud as thunder in Marik's ears. " _Playing?!_ Tomb keepers do not _play_ at being tomb robbers!"

Marik clambered off Odion with a squeak. "We didn't mean…"

"Are you so blasphemous at such a young age? Do you practise sacrilegious acts?!" Father closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I pray to the Gods Above for your soul, and for my hand to be quick in punishment. That my son, _my_ son, should be so wicked…"

"I'm not!" Marik's eyes were wide, his lip trembling. "I didn't…"

"And now he lies to me, too!" Father's eyes flew open and his hand tightened about the whip. "You servant shall pay dearly for your crimes, Marik."

"N-no…" Marik's eyes were burning. His throat closed up, small body trembling as he stood over Odion. "Don't…"

"Move, boy, or I won't hesitate to strike you instead."

Marik stepped aside with hatred curling in his gut. Hatred for himself and his own weakness, hatred for his Father, hatred for the Nameless Pharaoh who had got them all into this mess in the first place. He hid in a corner of the room, turning his face into the stone as the lashes of the whip sounded against Odion's skin, time after time for Marik's sins. Marik curled his hands into fists. _The Thief King would stop him. The Thief King would rescue me, and Odion and Ishizu, and take us up and out into the sunlight to be free…_

He clung to that belief, holding the Thief King like a talisman in his heart as the beating continued.

…

Years passed, and Marik never ceased believing in the Thief King. Throughout all the times that Odion was beaten for Marik's weakness, or Marik's laziness, or Marik's refusal to learn, he clung to the knowledge that the Thief King would not stand for this. The Thief King had fought the Pharaoh, and Marik vowed he would too.

That vow only grew stronger after the Tombkeepers' Initiation, when he held the Pharaoh's secret carved deep into his own back.

He remembered it again after the death of Father, when he found himself alone and facing a world of sunlight and stars. With Odion always by his side, Marik plotted to complete that vow – to fight the Pharaoh, just as the Thief King had. He gathered others about him, underlings who would do his bidding, and plotted day and night. With the Rod in his possession, it was easy to guide others to his side and force them to bend to his well. _The Pharaoh will bend, too,_ Marik vowed. _He will bend and bow to me for what he did to my family._

When he heard about the Battle City tournament, Marik grabbed for the opportunity to place all his plots into action. With Odion by his side, he sailed for Domino City, for the first time leaving Egyptian soil with his face turned towards the dawn. He had found his freedom, but it wasn't perfect yet. First, he needed to be rid of the Nameless Pharaoh, and the burden he carried on his back. Battle City was the perfect place to finally take his freedom.

And it was there that he met Bakura.

Bakura, the boy in possession of the Millennium Ring who had his eye on Marik's Items. Bakura, who shared his hatred for the Pharaoh with just as much vehemence. Together they plotted, together they duelled, and when Marik suddenly found himself pushed from his body, forced out of his mind by a darkness he had refused to acknowledge through his life so far, it was to Bakura he went with his plans in tatters around him. And Bakura agreed to fight for him.

Even as the flames took the both of them, Marik felt free by his side.

Once Battle City was done, Marik went broken back to Egypt with Ishizu and Odion by his side. He still cursed the Nameless Pharaoh, bitter over his defeat, bitter over the way he had been forced into compliance. The Rod and Ring were back in the Pharaoh's possession, and they left a hole in Marik's soul. Even then, he didn't have his freedom. His back still burned with the Pharaoh's secret.

Of Bakura, Marik heard no more. He often thought of the one he had partnered with, the one who had worked with him against the Nameless Pharaoh, the one with whom he had truly felt free. Marik continued with his duties as tombkeeper; he sent the Nameless Pharaoh back in time, allowed him to regain his memories, and then set him on the path to the afterlife. Once he was gone, Marik returned to his life in Egypt, finally free of the burden of his duty.

And yet, he still felt buried.

Each night he woke shaking and sweating, heavy memories of the tomb weighing down his mind. Father's face still haunted him, the whip laying into Odion's back, the heated knife scarring Marik's own skin. And yet, with those memories, others also resurfaced. Marik remembered the scriptures of the Thief King. He remembered the freedom he had felt, dreaming about a life of thievery.

And that was when Bakura returned.

…

 _"Ishtar!"_

The voice, accompanied by loud, obnoxious knocking, railed through Marik's small Egyptian apartment. It was a stormy night, the occasional rumble of thunder echoing from the sky above and melding with the dark throbbing timbre of the voice. Marik swallowed, his eyes on his door. It was rare for him to get a visitor, and even rarer for them to shop up unannounced in the middle of the night.

For the first time in a long time, he felt the beginnings of excitement stirring in his gut.

Marik wrenched the door open to reveal a sodden, drenched form standing on his doorstep. Before Marik knew what was happening, the figure flew at him and knocked him back against the wall, an elbow in his ribcage and a knife pressed to his throat. Marik sucked in a sharp, harsh breath.

" _Ishtar_ ," hissed the low, rumbling voice.

A voice that was impossibly familiar.

Marik leaned against the wall, his back smarting, but he narrowed his eyes and focused on the person in front of him. Grey-white hair, cropped short, hung messily into his eyes, his skin sun-browned to a darker shade than Marik's. About his shoulders hung a long, red cloak, and a jagged scar tore its way down his right cheek.

Marik's eyes widened.

The knife pressed closer into Marik's throat, drawing a trickle of blood as the stranger leaned closer with a low hiss. "I knew I would find you again."

That voice, so low and familiar, jarred abhorrently with the image of the person before Marik. He shook his head – surely he was hallucinating. All those times he had dreamed of the Thief King, and also his longing for his once-partner, had melded the two together in his head, and now he was hallucinating. That was the only explanation.

…Except that knife felt very _real_ as it cut into his throat.

Marik forced a hand up between himself and the heated body of the other, narrowing his eyes still further. _"Wait_."

"Ah, finally found your tongue?"

That tone and that smirk were undeniably familiar, but it didn't make sense. Marik blinked several times, staring at the body before him, but _it didn't make sense_.

Wait. Focus on one thing at a time.

Marik took in a careful breath, his mind racing in an effort to piece everything together into a cohesive whole. His voice sounded as a rasp. "Bakura?"

"Well done." The knife dug sharper into his throat. "For a second there, I didn't think you'd recognise me."

Marik simply stared. This was Bakura – it _had_ to be Bakura, with that voice and that smirk – but he looked entirely different. He was more built, his hair shorter, his eyes lighter, and that red cloak…

He looked like the Thief King from Marik's childhood scriptures.

And then several things clicked into place.

"Of _course_ ," Marik murmured, his eyes fixated onto Bakura's body. " _Of course!_ You had the Ring, you were a spirit bound to an Item just like the Pharaoh, I can't believe I didn't see it before…"

"See what?" Bakura demanded, his expression shifting into suspicion.

Marik looked him straight in the eyes. "You're the Thief King."

Silence hung between them like butter on the edge of a knife.

Bakura slid his weight forwards, forcing his blade firmly against Marik's neck. His brows were furrowed, his light eyes burning as he growled, "How in the hell do you know that?"

Marik ignored the question. Disbelief made his eyes grow wide, his jaw dropping open just a little. _Bakura was the Thief King?!_ The one he had partnered with, the one who had sided with him, the one who worked under him – his childhood hero?

 _Of course. It makes sense. Who else could hold so much hatred for the Pharaoh?_

A wide, slow grin spread across Marik's face. "This is brilliant."

A snarl ripped its way through Bakura's lips and the knife was shoved closer to Marik's neck. "Say that again."

"But it is!" Marik's eyes were lit as he stared into Bakura's. "You're the Thief King!"

Bakura scowled. "I'm the Thief King who's going to murder you."

Marik drew his head back sharply and glared. "Why would you do that?"

" _Because you gave my Ring to the Pharaoh!"_

"…Oh yeah," Marik replied lamely.

Bakura snarled. " _Oh yeah_? Is that really all you've got to say, _Ishtar_?"

"Well, I didn't _want_ to give him your Ring," Marik quickly admonished.

Bakura glared.

"I didn't have much choice," Marik pointed out, his tone still bizarrely light. "The Pharaoh wasn't going to let me off, and if I fought him, I'd have ended up cast out of my body again and left to the fury of my darkness. You remember him, right? The one who burned us…"

"I remember," Bakura snapped.

Marik looked him straight in the eyes. "I let you out of the shadows when I released the ones my darkness had trapped."

"Am I supposed to be _grateful_?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no to a little gratitude," Marik smirked, "Especially from the _Thief King_."

The knife dropped from Marik's neck and Bakura stepped back with a growl. "Stop saying that like you know what it means."

"But I _do_ know what it means," Marik quipped. He rubbed at his neck, frowning. "You didn't have to cut me."

Bakura growled. "I planned on doing much worse." He span and took a seat, uninvited, on Marik's couch, his red cloak fluttering out around him. "And quite staring at me. How the hell do you know about my title?"

"The Thief King?" Marik stood in front of Bakura and simply stared at him.

"No, the Fairy Queen. _Of course_ the Thief King, you idiot."

Marik's eyes narrowed. "First tell me what the hell you're doing here."

Bakura cast an airy hand in the air. "What, are you displeased to see me?"

"I thought you were dead," Marik hissed.

Bakura lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Came close. Lost against the Pharaoh, _again_. Gods gave me another chance, again."

Marik pursed his lips, eyeing Bakura closely. To anyone else, those words probably sounded nonchalant, but Marik recognised the burning anger behind Bakura's calm, sarcastic façade. It was the same burning anger that inhabited Marik's stomach whenever he thought of the tomb.

Bakura sat forward suddenly, red cloak fluttering, and he peered keenly into Marik's eyes. "Your turn."

Marik held his gaze for a moment before he span away and started to pace across the room. His hands curled into fists. "You know I was a tombkeeper."

" _Were_?" Bakura arched a brow, a delicious smirk stretching across his lips. "I was under the impression that's a lifelong job title."

"Not for me," Marik growled. His back itched, but he ignored it, continuing to pace. "I was brought up in the old ways. The legends of Ancient Egypt were my fairytales. They … included the story of the Thief King."

Bakura stilled.

"I should have known it was you from the moment I first saw you," Marik admonished himself quietly. "There's no way some little English boy knew the secrets of the Millennium Items – and you were so obviously connected with the Ring…"

"Are you telling me I was some childhood villain of yours?" Bakura's voice sounded oddly smug.

Marik stopped in his pacing to send Bakura a slight smirk. "…Not exactly."

Bakura quirked a questioning brow.

"You weren't a villain." Marik crossed his arms and concealed the grin threatening to tug at his lips. "I idolised you. Father was furious."

Bakura's brows shot up.

Marik snickered. "Apparently, tombkeepers aren't meant to look up to tomb robbers. You were a lot more interesting than the Gods-be-damned Nameless Pharaoh, though. I couldn't help it."

Bakura's chin lifted a little at that. "Seems you had good taste."

Marik rolled his eyes. "Still as arrogant as ever, it would seem."

Bakura stuck his tongue out.

Marik grinned. He took a seat opposite Bakura, taking in the sight of his long red cloak and the jagged scar that dragged down one cheek, just as he had been described in the scriptures. "And here you sit, right out of the scriptures. The Thief King in my living room." The thought was almost absurd.

Bakura smirked. "Want me to sign my autograph?"

"I'm not above smacking you," Marik glared, although his eyes were glittering with amusement. "Although – why _did_ you show up at my doorstep?"

Bakura shrugged, the blade of the knife gleaming in his lap. "Thought I'd come and see how my old _partner_ is doing."

"By which you mean stabbing me in the throat for betraying you?" Marik guessed.

Bakura gave a low, dark chuckle. "Perhaps."

"I'd rather you didn't do that," Marik shot back. "I didn't actually _want_ to betray you."

"Oh, I don't doubt that at all," Bakura grinned, "Not now I know how you _idolised_ me…"

"Shut up." Marik continued to scowl, though he couldn't deny that a part of him was a tiny bit ecstatic that Bakura was once again sitting before him, in the flesh. His old partner, the only one he had found true freedom with. His partner, who had turned out to be the hero of his childhood – the one Marik always dreamed of whisking him away from the tomb…

"Quit staring at me, Ishtar."

Bakura's voice broke back through Marik's daydream, and he shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. He met Bakura's eyes with a grin. "Hey, so, do you have anywhere to stay?"

Bakura's expression grew slightly suspicious. "…No. Why?"

"Well," Marik shrugged, "You can stay here if you want."

Silence hung between them for a moment as Bakura mulled that over. "…Those idiot siblings of yours aren't hiding around here somewhere, are they?"

"They're not idiots," Marik glared. "…But no, they have a house around the corner. This apartment's just mine."

Another silence stretched between them, in which Marik felt pinned to his sofa under Bakura's keen stare. Several minutes passed until Bakura suddenly smirked.

"Sure, Ishtar. Why not?"

 **I wrote this mostly to get out some headcanons I have about Marik's childhood – namely, that he used to read about the Thief King and idolised him. I've explored it a bit in my other fics, but I wanted to write about it explicitly here ^_^. I might return to this and write a bit more, if anyone would be interested in reading other chapters? I sort of want to explore thiefshipping in this verse. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little piece – Jem**


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